


that sanguine expectation

by witching



Series: happiness itself [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Communication, Established Relationship, Fluff, Heart-to-Heart, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, M/M, Sex Positive Asexual Character, Sex Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: Nobody was surprised when Jon finally opened his eyes and Martin finally raised his voice and they fell into each other like a planet falls into orbit, like a wave falls into the shore, like a bird falls into the sky. It was only a matter of time, everyone thought, and they had spent more than a few late nights reassuring Martin to that effect before it actually happened. There was nothing unexpected about it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: happiness itself [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612573
Comments: 16
Kudos: 392





	that sanguine expectation

**Author's Note:**

> hey, y'all! this work contains extensive discussion of sexual themes, but it is entirely free of any actual sexual content. i wanted to post this first part by itself and post the sex later as a sequel, rather than all together, bc i think there's likely a good portion of people who would want to read a very frank and loving negotiation of sexual boundaries but would prefer not to read about the sex itself.  
> anyway! i hope you enjoy!

Nobody was surprised when Jon finally opened his eyes and Martin finally raised his voice and they fell into each other like a planet falls into orbit, like a wave falls into the shore, like a bird falls into the sky. It was only a matter of time, everyone thought, and they had spent more than a few late nights reassuring Martin to that effect before it actually happened. There was nothing unexpected about it.

In the beginning, there was quite a bit of awkward tension, as anyone with the slightest understanding of Jon and Martin’s personalities and their relationship could have foreseen. They had spent so long _not_ doing this, _not_ being together, _not_ saying what needed to be said, that having it all come to light was like the peeling of a scab. It was messy and uncomfortable, but they were healing.

They practiced kissing enough to master the art within a week. It was something they had both longed to do for a while, and once they started they couldn't get enough of it. It also carried the added advantage of keeping their mouths and their minds busy so they wouldn't have to talk about undesirable subjects.

They did talk some. Jon slowly learned how to say what he felt and how to apologize. Martin made small strides in his effort to _stop_ apologizing, as Jon had told him in no uncertain terms that he did far too much of it. 

Still, old habits die hard, and they were the same people they always had been, and that was refreshing, reassuring. When Jon got tired and became a tad detached, Martin brought him tea and didn’t take it personally. When Martin spilled hot tea in his lap, Jon changed his trousers and didn’t snap at him, except once after the sixteenth “Sorry.” It was always them, even if it was a new and scary version of them.

It got less scary as time went on, but there was a small, quiet elephant in the room, sitting politely in the corner and waiting for them to catch up and notice it. And after a few months, they finally did.

Jon had been sleeping, but the absence of Martin’s warm, solid body against him woke him up in increments. It was early in the morning on a work day, so it made sense for Martin to be awake, but normally Martin would wake Jon whenever he got up, and now he was not touching Jon and had decidedly not woken him. When Jon rolled over to find that Martin had not only moved away from him, but left the room entirely, something wound its way around his chest and squeezed hard. He was _almost_ sure that everything was _probably_ fine, but he felt a sick sort of dread try to crawl up his throat, so he reached out with his mind in an effort to Know that Martin was okay.

When the knowledge that Martin was in the shower slipped into his brain, Jon relaxed instantly, his tense muscles uncoiling as he breathed a deep sigh of relief. Now that he Knew where Martin was, it was much easier to hear the gentle stream of the shower, to see the light in the crack under the door. It was a bit odd, as Martin was usually the type to shower in the evening, but it was a good kind of odd, a normal kind of odd. Jon didn’t go back to sleep, but he lay there with his eyes closed for a few minutes until he heard Martin turn the shower off.

Another minute passed, and Martin stepped out of the bathroom with a satisfied sigh, all damp hair and soft skin, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. Jon propped himself up on an elbow to watch Martin make his way back to bed, a fondness swelling inside him until he felt like he was going to burst. Almost before Martin was fully on the bed, Jon had wrapped around him like a python and kissed him soundly.

“What was that for?" Martin asked breathlessly as soon as Jon's mouth was detached from his own.

Jon frowned, a slight pout to his lips. "I missed you," he answered openly, though his tone was clinical as ever. "You left me."

"I should leave you more often," Martin teased him with a warm smile.

"Don't you dare."

"You know I wouldn't."

"Yeah, I know," Jon murmured. "How long have we got before we have to go?"

Martin glanced at his watch. "About twenty minutes. Why?"

In lieu of a verbal answer to the question, Jon dove in to kiss him again. Martin smiled against his lips, his hands snaking around Jon's waist and pressing into the small of his back, pulling his body closer and holding him securely. Jon shifted to maximize skin contact, a highly scientific and calculated move, and it was then that he could no longer ignore that niggling thought that had been sitting in his brain for a while.

He pulled away from the kiss, but his refusal to put any real distance between them meant that he was too close to actually look at Martin while he spoke, so Jon chose instead to burrow into the crook of his neck. “Martin," he said gently, lips grazing skin, "you like sex, don’t you?”

Martin let out a small, choked squeaking sound. “What?”

Jon blushed fiercely, not from the indelicate subject matter, but from having apparently upset Martin. “I know it’s impertinent, but –”

“It’s not _impertinent,_ Jon,” Martin interrupted with a tone of endeared exasperation. “We’re _dating._ We’re literally in bed together right now. It’s just… unexpected.”

A crease forming between his brows, Jon frowned at that. “Why?”

The question made Martin pause, confused. “Well, because…" he said slowly, full of uncertainty, "you know, I thought that you – I had heard that you – that it wasn’t really your thing.”

“It’s not, really," Jon replied with a casual shrug, "but I was asking about you. It’s your thing, isn’t it?" He stopped abruptly, his face screwing up in chagrin, and rushed to clarify: "I mean, not that it’s your _Thing,_ like it’s a defining characteristic or anything, just that – people don’t just gossip about me, you know. I’ve heard things, too.”

“Oh," Martin said quietly, trying not to think too hard about what Jon may or may not have heard about his dating history. Jon probably wouldn’t have paid too much attention to it at the time, he told himself, but it wasn’t as comforting a thought as he had hoped. "Okay,” he continued, pushing through it, “but still, we – we don’t have to talk about it.”

Pulling away by inches, Jon studied Martin’s face with concern. “Do you not want to talk about it?” he asked, valiantly locking down the compulsion that threatened to seep into his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Martin assured him. “I just. _I_ don’t mind, but I thought you’d prefer to, erm, not.”

“It seems like the sort of thing we should discuss at some point,” Jon replied, his tone plain and sincere. “We are, as you so keenly pointed out, dating.”

Martin blushed at the reminder, a wave of warmth overtaking him. He was sure he would never get used to hearing that. Hearing it in Jon’s voice, especially, gave him a sense of perspective on the situation, reminded him how lucky he was, how his current confusion and slight embarrassment was inconsequential in the face of what he had. 

“Yeah, but I just figured you wouldn’t want to do it,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “so we wouldn’t do it, and that would be the end of it. What is there to discuss?”

Jon smiled at him. It was still a bit surreal to see Jon smile, not a snarky or irreverent smirk, but a warm and loving smile, directed at him, _caused_ by him. Martin could die on the spot just from looking at him. He was so wrapped up in Jon’s smile, in fact, that he almost didn’t hear Jon speak.

"Martin… what is it you've heard, exactly?"

"Not much, really,” Martin rushed to assure him. “I mean, Tim and Sasha used to – but I never put much thought into it until I listened to that tape, the one where Melanie and Basira were –"

Jon gave a slow, knowing nod and raised a hand in a vague gesture to interrupt him. "Right,” he muttered, his tone halfway between sardonic and ashamed. “That tape, not very detailed, was it? As far as I can recall, it was nothing but the idlest of gossip."

"Yeah,” Martin said slowly. “What's your point?"

“My point,” Jon answered, patient and plain, “is simply that it can't be healthy or wise to just gloss over the topic as if it's been handled. We should be better at communicating than that."

Martin paused, rendered speechless by the pure surprise of hearing Jon say those words. Jon, who had written the book on shitty communication, who had tried so hard for so long to shut down any attempt Martin made to get to know him, who would always have chosen denial and a stiff upper lip over talking about his feelings. So, Martin thought, either this was very important to Jon, or their relationship had changed him more than he had noticed before. 

"Alright, then,” Martin said eventually, leveling Jon with an apprehensive look. “You clearly have something you want to say, so go on."

"Okay, so…” Jon hesitated for a long moment, took a deep breath and released it on a heavy sigh before continuing. “What Melanie heard from Georgie… that was all true, for my relationship with Georgie. But you're not Georgie."

Martin narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

Jon looked almost pained by the question, and he had to deliberate on it again before he could formulate an answer. "Basically, if – for the sake of simplicity, if we say I'm indifferent to the desire part of the equation,” he said, speaking slowly and watching Martin’s face closely to make sure he was getting it all, “then Georgie is surprisingly apathetic about the act itself. So it was a non-issue for us, mostly, because it wasn’t something either of us particularly wanted. But if it’s something you want, and I think it is, then we can talk about it."

A frown settled on Martin’s face gradually – not the confused or concerned kind of frown, but an expression of almost pure sadness. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes wide and worrying. "Jon, you don't have to…"

"I know,” Jon replied earnestly, “I want to. This isn't coming from – from some sense of obligation or self-sacrifice, believe me."

"Where is it coming from, then?" Martin asked, looking skeptical.

"I want to make you feel good,” Jon whispered. “I'd like – I'd like to please you."

"That sounds fairly self-sacrificing to me," Martin pointed out. "You'd not be getting anything from it."

"I don't think you heard me right. I would get to make you feel good." Jon moved to cradle Martin’s face in both his hands, looking into his deep brown eyes and speaking with all the fervent energy he could muster. "That's what I want. That's what would make me happy."

His tense posture relaxing slightly, Martin brought a hand up to stroke Jon's arm. "Okay," he murmured with a small smile, "if you're sure."

"I'm sure. Besides, I do _enjoy_ – I mean, it feels good for me, too," Jon assured him. "We can talk about it some more if you want, but I _am_ sure."

Martin took a slow, even breath, still reeling but finally starting to believe in Jon's sincerity. It was a sort of tightrope walk, really: was it more unlikely that Jon would selflessly pretend to want to have sex with him, or that Jon actually wanted to have sex with him? Either option would have been wholly inconceivable to him a year ago, but now? He had been on the receiving end of Jon's rare moments of undiluted kindness, and he knew that that kindness sometimes took the form of well-meaning but poorly executed gestures. He was well acquainted with that reality, so it took a bit more to convince him that this wasn't one of those times.

"What are you thinking you'd like to do, exactly?" he asked as casually as possible, then cleared his throat.

Jon shrugged. "I'm open to a wide range of possibilities," he said just as breezily, twining his fingers with Martin's, staring at their joined hands. "What do you want?"

"I want to touch you."

It was such a quick and easy answer that Jon froze, fearing that he'd accidentally compelled Martin. As soon as he opened his mouth to apologize, however, Martin quieted him with an understanding look and a shake of his head. 

Jon blew out a long, low exhale, relieved by the reassurance. "I'd like that," he murmured softly. “I think – I think I’d like it if you wanted to… to fuck me.”

“Oh, wow,” Martin breathed. It was a lame response, but he was too taken aback to say anything else. He studied Jon’s face for a hint of something – regret, discomfort, anything – but he found nothing except openness and patience. “You… really?”

“Erm, yeah,” Jon mumbled with a small, bashful nod of his head. “It’s – I like the way it feels, and, er. I like… you know when we’re in bed together and like, usually I sort of lie half on top of you, but sometimes you lie a bit on top of me? I really like it when you do that.”

Martin closed his eyes, smiling at the thought of the two of them lying together, Jon feeling safe and secure under his weight. It was a very good thought. Anything that he could do to make Jon happy was a good thing. He catalogued that information for future use and returned to the matter at hand. "And you – I mean, what do you _not_ want to do? I don't want to make any assumptions about your intentions."

Pressing his lips together in a tight line, Jon tried to come up with an answer, but he was profoundly aware that he wasn’t particularly versed in these matters, and there were definitely things he hadn’t even heard of that he wouldn’t want to do. "I'm not really – I don't know how all of this works, I just. I'll tell you if something comes up.”

“Are you _sure,_ Jon?” 

Martin looked and sounded about as concerned as the average late night at the Archives when he would have to wheedle Jon into eating or taking a break or sleeping. Jon gave him a smile and rubbed his thumb across the back of Martin’s hand in a firm, soothing movement.

“I suppose,” he said eventually, “based on what little experience I have, I don't like receiving oral." He took a breath and then continued, "Well – I suppose I'm not a fan of anything where I get off and you don't, even if it's just the individual act and then you would come after. I just, I would prefer it to be as mutual and simultaneous as possible."

Martin gave him a pained look, a soft groan. "God, that shouldn't sound so hot," he lamented. "Everything sounds sexy in your voice, it's not fair."

"I'm sorry," Jon mumbled. "I'm not doing it on purpose."

"I _know_ that," Martin replied with a sigh of mixed fondness and amusement. "Maybe it's a Beholding thing, like the compulsion. People will tell you anything if your voice turns them on."

"Do you think?"

"Probably not. It's been there as long as I've known you, before the Archives and everything."

Jon blushed furiously at that and he averted his eyes, though he could still feel Martin's heated gaze on him, making his skin hot and tingly. It was always a strange thing, the reminder that Martin had wanted him for so long before he finally came around, and it brought with it an overwhelming combination of shame and love and belonging. How stupid he had been to push Martin away for so long. It was unthinkable, now.

Not wanting to dwell on those thoughts, Jon leaned in and kissed him again, simple and quick. "I love you," he said fervently, honestly.

It wasn't _rare_ that he said it. He was no longer in the habit of withholding affection or pushing down his feelings. But Jon was one of those people who only said it when it really mattered. He wasn't preachy about it, not the kind to assert that saying it too much makes it lose its meaning, and he didn't even really do it consciously. He just said it when the moment called for it.

Martin, being aware of this but unaware of where Jon's mind had gone for those few seconds, was unsure why this moment called for it, exactly. But he certainly wasn't complaining. "I love you, too," he replied easily.

For his part, Martin had developed a language of his own to tell Jon he loved him. For years he had been unable to say it, because Jon had been unwilling to hear it, so he showed it with cups of tea and eager assistance and doting concern. The past few months, however, had given him license to say it whenever he wanted, so although he'd had to learn how, he said it often and he meant it every time.

Jon kissed him again, deeper and messier, and most of Martin's thoughts fled his mind, leaving a jumble of _Jon_ and _love_ and _sex_ and _skin_ and _heat_ and _work_ –

"Shit," he mumbled, pulling away from the kiss with great reluctance. "We're going to be late if we don't get going."

A noise something like a whine left Jon, though he'd deny it to the ends of the earth. He closed his eyes, let out a deep, disappointed sigh, and nodded his head. "Yes, alright," he agreed, extricating himself from Martin and climbing off the bed to get dressed. "I'm taking this," he added, grabbing the sweater Martin had been wearing the day before from the chair where he'd discarded it.

"Go ahead,” Martin said with a warm smile and a wave of his hand. “Wouldn't want you to get cold."

"And then when we get home," Jon murmured meaningfully, _"you_ can keep me warm."

Martin’s mouth went dry and he tried his damnedest to continue getting dressed, faltering only slightly as he reached for a shirt and it slipped through his fingers. While he struggled with his clothes, Jon went to brush his teeth, and then he made his way back over toward the bed, wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist and resting his forehead against the back of Martin’s shoulder. It restricted his movement slightly, making it a bit awkward for Martin to button his pants, but he wasn’t about to ask Jon to _stop_ touching him. 

They walked outside, hands clasped tightly together. Jon looked steadfastly forward, but Martin could see the dark blush on his cheekbones, could feel the steel grip of his fingers. He took comfort in the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one affected by their conversation, the heavy anticipation between them. It was going to be a _long_ day.


End file.
